And Chaos Ensues
by long live the wilderness
Summary: Hermione swallows her pride and enlists Fred and George Weasley in a plot to keep the fourth Triwizard alive. Surely their combined intelligence will prevent any deaths, but why are they so eager to help out? And what does Neville have to do with this?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything. Everything belongs to JK Rowling, who is a genius.

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Chapter 1

The Fourth Triwizard

The cheers stopped suddenly when the Goblet of Fire spat out another long tongue of flames. Sparks flew in every direction as a fourth piece of charred paper shot upwards. With an immensely calm expression, not shared by any of the judges, Dumbledore plucked the paper out of the air. A grim expression fell over his features as he scrutinised the writing. All the students and teachers watched in curiosity as Dumbledore regained his composure.

"Neville Longbottom!"

There was nothing but silence. Everyone from Hogwarts turned as one to stare at the Gryffindor table, where a rather shell-shocked Neville sat. Hermione reached over and clutched Neville's hand as his face began to turn a rather unflattering green. Ron, in contrast, was becoming redder by the minute and Hermione feared an explosion from him with every passing second. The silence stretched, taut and ready to snap.

To everyone's surprise, Mad-Eye Moody and Draco Malfoy broke the silence at the same time; both with the same half-shocked, half-derisive comment.

"Not Potter?"

Neville squeezed his eyes shut as the hall erupted around him. Hermione felt his hold on her hand tighten to the point where she knew if she dared look it would be white. Instead she sat stoically by his side as everyone in the hall tried to shout over the top of each other. She saw McGonagall stand from the staff table out of the corner of her eye and turned to watch her quickly stride up to Dumbledore. After a few seconds of them quietly conferring Dumbledore nodded and raised his hands. The shouting continued.

Losing her temper with the rapidly deteriorating situation, Hermione pried her wand out of her pocket with her left hand. She huffed in frustration as Dumbledore added his voice to the cacophony, only to be drowned out by Karkaroff who decided it was a good idea to yell, "who is the coward?! Make him stand up!"

Neville's eyes shot open, clearly incensed by the insult and made to stand up. Hermione held his hand tighter to hold him down with a glare and raised her wand to the ceiling. A deafening bang exploded and echoed round the hall. The students who had stood up immediately sat back down, cowering slightly with everyone else. Silence finally descended once more.

Dumbledore coughed once. "Thank you, Miss Granger," he said, his eyebrows raised but eyes twinkling. Then he turned his attention back to the hall.

"Could Neville Longbottom please come up to the staff table and make his way to the Champion's room."

Neville stood up stiffly, forgetting he still clutched Hermione's hand in a death grip. A few of the Hogwarts students snickered causing him to turn purple in embarrassment. Hurriedly, he untangled his fingers from her worryingly white hand with an apologetic look. Hermione gave him a small but encouraging smile, despite the awful pins and needles. Neville attempted to return the gesture, but gave up. He seemed to have forgotten how to use the muscles in his face. He turned and walked as fast as he could down the corridor of stares. The Great Hall had never seemed so long to him before. He reached the teachers quickly and in his haste to leave the hall behind almost jogged into the room where the other Champions waited.

As if a spell was lifted as soon as he was out of sight, the Great Hall was filled with the buzzing of angry voices. This time however, the students took notice when Dumbledore raised his hands.

"I suggest you all make your way to bed. Classes will be on as normal tomorrow after all and it is well past your bedtimes."

The angry buzzing grew louder, but Dumbledore ploughed on.

"I assure you," he paused to let the hall quieten, giving Hermione a warning look. She guiltily pocketed her wand. "I assure you that you will all find out what has occurred, tomorrow. We will make an announcement over breakfast to clear up any misunderstandings. For now, I ask for your patience. Goodnight."

With that he swept from the room. The other headmasters and judges stood abruptly to follow him, looking none too happy about being left behind. Ron grabbed Hermione's arm to drag her out with him and Harry, but was stopped by McGonagall's shrill voice carrying over the chaos.

"Miss Granger! A word, if you please." The Scottish lilt made the phrase sound far more threatening than it should have. Ron threw Hermione a despairing look which made her wonder what she had done wrong. He let go of her as if burned and stormed off with the crowd of Gryffindors. Harry gave her arm a pat and a token "good luck" before moving to follow Ron in a rather dazed fashion.

Hermione was sure that she would be taken to McGonagall's office for a tongue lashing. When instead she was led up to the entrance of the Champions' room and told to wait outside, she was too bewildered to ask why. McGonagall swept through the door without another word and left Hermione with her thoughts for company. Immediately her head filled with the worst case scenarios for the coming competition. Why on earth were these _schools_ bringing back a competition where _students_ _died?!_

~o~

Neville careened through the door startling the three occupants standing round the fire. Victor Krum spun round with a dark look on his face. Cedric Diggory and Fleur Delacour however schooled their faces from surprised to an expression of mild curiosity. Deciding that three people staring at him really was preferable to the entire Great Hall, Neville bent double with his chubby fingers on his knees to concentrate on catching his breath. He watched unhappily as a witch flitted into a portrait of a wizard sporting an impressive walrus moustache. The witch began whispering in the wizard's ear, throwing looks in Neville's direction.

Fleur threw her sheet of long, silvery hair over her shoulder with an impatient huff. "What is it?" she said. "Do zey want us back in ze Hall?"

She thought he had come to deliver a message. Neville took one last shuddering breath and unfolded himself to his full height. He noticed in slight astonishment that the growth spurt he had cursed so much over the summer meant he now stood only a few centimetres shorter than Cedric. Great. He had enjoyed being small and unnoticeable. He opened his mouth to explain why he was there, but he could get anything past his lips other than a stuttered 'I'. He clamped his mouth shut. It had been months since he had last stuttered. Since he had last been at Hogwarts now that he thought about it. The Champions stared at him. He stared back, feeling stupid.

Footsteps rang out behind him and he thanked every star in the sky. Someone was coming to tell him this was all some awful mistake. He turned round and came face to face with Dumbledore. The twinkle which usually resided in his eyes was markedly absent. Neville's stomach plummeted for what felt like the thousandth time. Behind Dumbledore the door flew open admitting a large group of people: Ludo Bagman followed closely by Mr Crouch, Professor Karkaroff, Madame Maxime and Professor Snape. Neville focused hopefully on Ludo Bagman whose eyes glittered with barely suppressed excitement. He rushed forward ignoring Dumbledore's severe expression.

"Extraordinary!" he muttered, grabbing Neville's hand and shaking it. "A _fourth_ Triwizard! How exciting! Remind me of your name young man."

Neville flushed and shuffled his feet. He extracted his hand from Bagman's with some difficulty and attempted to make himself as small as possible. Fleur tossed her hair letting out a perfect laugh. "Oh, vairy funny joke, Meester Bagman."

"Unfortunately, this is no joke," came Dumbledore's stern voice. His eyes still fixed on Neville.

"Well, there can't be any ducking out at this stage… what with the Champions bound to compete, right Barty?"

Mr Crouch opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by a shriek of anger from Fleur. "You are saying zat zis stupid boy is to compete also?"

Cedric started chortling. "Longbottom? Impossible."

Neville wished he could sink into the floor. The words 'stupid boy' echoed round his head endlessly. His battered self-esteem was further trampled on by a rather loud, malevolent chuckle from Professor Snape.

" _C'est impossible!_ " said Madame Maxime, placing an enormous hand on Fleur's shoulder. " 'Ogwarts cannot 'ave two champions. It is most unjust."

"Maybe we did not read the rules carefully enough, Madame Maxime," said Professor Karkaroff in a cold voice. "Dumbledore may have changed the rules to allow for an advantage for the Host school."

"Don't be ridiculous!" McGonagall, having just come in through the door glowered at Karkaroff. "Dumbledore would never use such backhanded tactics!"

"Unlike some dark wizards," intoned Moody. Karkaroff's face went beetroot in patches. Neville wasn't sure if it was in anger or fear. Dumbledore barked "Alastor!" in warning. Neville, who had been following the argument miserably until this point, glanced up to figure out who Alastor was. His gaze was met by Moody's magic eye, which seemed fixed eerily on his face. Terror from the class on Unforgiveable Curses fresh in his memory, he slouched further than even Krum and avoided anyone's eyes by going back to staring glumly at the floor.

Dumbledore's calm voice forced him to reluctantly look back up again. "Neville, did you put your name into the Goblet."

"Of course he didn't," Snape snapped. His next comment felt like a punch in the gut. "As if Longbottom could figure out a way over the Age Line."

McGonagall rounded on Snape, her back ram-rod straight. "No underage student can get past the Age Line, Longbottom or not. You would do well to start defending your own students rather than demeaning them."

Neville noticed that Dumbledore was ignoring the argument and watching his face carefully. He was sure he would burst into flames if his face got any redder. He was trying desperately to hold back tears of humiliation. "N-n-no sir," he eventually forced out.

"Did you ask an older student to put your name in?"

"No sir." This time the answer was more confident.

"Of course he didn't, Albus. The boy is terrified!" McGonagall all but yelled.

"With good reason," croaked Mad-Eye. "It would take a very powerful Confundus Charm to fool a magical object as old as the Goblet of Fire. Clearly someone put Longbottom's name in without his consent. Someone who wants him dead."

Professor Karkaroff let out a nasty snort. "I heard you were going senile Moody, but this is ridiculous. Why would anyone want to kill this boy– " he fell silent as Moody clunked towards him.

"You tell me, Igor," was Moody's furious reply.

"Enough, Alastor!"

Neville did not hear the rest of the argument. At the words 'wants him dead' he felt like he was suddenly submerged in very deep water. He watched the faces of everyone in the small room feeling numb. A whining in his ears began and slowly grew louder over what felt like hours as they kept shouting silently. He watched as if through a window as the guests from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang stormed out with dark looks on their faces. He watched as Ludo Bagman and Mr Crouch disappeared out the door; the former looking like he was about to explode with excitement, the latter looking as ill as Neville felt he should in his current situation. If he could feel his fingers. Or the rest of him. He watched McGonagall shoo Cedric Diggory and Professor Snape out the room. Only when she brought a very stressed and tired looking Hermione in did reality finally come crashing down. He did what any normal 14 year old would do after being told someone was out to kill him.

He fainted.

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 **AN:** This is the first time I have written in a very long time. Constructive criticism would be much appreciated.

I would also like to point out that this chapter follows the Goblet of Fire very closely, to the point where I have taken a few sentences from the book. I am aware this is not good practise and I am not planning to do it (often) after this. I felt for the first chapter, however, this would provide more effect, considering that I was hoping to play off what you remember.

Thank you very much for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I own nothing

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Chapter 2

The Plot Thickens

"This isn't looking good, Gred."

"I know, Forge. Just keep to the plan."

"Right. I think some crowd control may be necessary."

"All good. I've moved the preparations under the table."

"Knew I could count on my favourite twin."

"You have _another_ twin?! You bastard!"

Fred and George sat at the table they had claimed in the lead up to the naming of the Champions. Their uncharacteristic quiet whispering had the students closest to them edging away nervously, creating a little oasis of stillness around them. The rest of the room was an explosion of voices. Some of the Gryffindors thought that having a Gryffindor Champion was better than nothing; some thought that an underage Champion was unfair. One unfortunately familiar loud voice didn't think that Neville should be in the Tournament; sadly not because it was too dangerous. Their _dear_ little brother was loudly proclaiming in the middle of the room that Neville would embarrass the house.

"In fact, he already has! He has cheated before the First Task has even begun! How else would he have got his name in the Goblet? Now he will stutter and stumble his way through the Tournament, showing the rest of us up!"

The twins grimaced when they saw how many people were nodding along. Seamus was angrily shouting abuse; but as always when he was angry, his accent had thickened so much that no one could understand. Harry was studying his feet, but he was heard to mutter to Ron quietly, "he's our friend, Ron. That isn't fair."

Fred glanced in George's direction. "What do you say, shall we sort this mess?"

"I say, 'what are you waiting for, brother of mine?'"

"Aright then. Let's get going –"

"– and put the letters on hold."

Fred sighed. "And put the letters on hold. After all –"

"– this is more important," they chorused. With a last look at each other they plastered on the most convincing grins they could and jumped onto the nearest coffee table.

"Fellow Gryffindors!" Fred bellowed dramatically.

"We are proud to announce –"

"– that we, as brave Gryffindors –"

"– will stand up for our peer, our friend –"

"– and cheer him on as he BRAVELY SUCCEEDS –"

"– in the TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT!"

Everyone within the Common Room stopped talking to watch the twins' manic display. Their speech was met with bewildered laughter.

"A fourth Triwizard means that –"

"– there is now a Champion from every Hogwarts table."

Fred and George knew that all the Gryffindors had felt slightly left out once the third Champion had been chosen. Mention of the involvement of their house caused the students to perk up and listen to the twins more attentively.

"So, George and I are proud to announce –"

"– a party complete with butterbeer!"

"For the best Champion of them all!"

More to the announcement of butterbeer than to any mention of Neville, the students erupted into cheers and laughter. Fred and George reached under the table they had been standing on and began to hand out bottle after bottle of butterbeer.

Very few people noticed Ron storm up the stairs to the boys' dormitory, Harry hot on his heels. Even fewer noticed Angelina bursting into tears and running up the other set of stairs. Fred himself didn't notice until Alicia spat, "best Champion of them all? Nice one, Fred," before she ran up after her friend. Fred's face fell and he stood staring in the direction Angelina had run until George gave him a subtle nudge. In an instant he was back to playing the crowd next to an equally enthusiastic George.

When Neville finally appeared through the portrait hole with Hermione at his side, a cheer went up at his presence. He looked paler than normal and smiled wanly at the attention. Someone thrust a butterbeer into his hands, even though he attempted to refuse.

Fred handed another to Hermione, giving Neville a wink. "Might be worth taking a sip to calm your nerves, mate."

Neville's smile became more genuine at the soft suggestion. Despite Hermione saying that he shouldn't feel pressured, he went to take a large gulp. Hermione watched with interest as Neville's face regained its colour and his smile grew larger. With a happy laugh he took another swig, then gathered up Hermione into a hug. He then wandered towards the rest of the students, who each stopped to congratulate him. With an ease Hermione had never seen Neville possess, he thanked them and began talking with a group of students he barely knew.

Hermione glanced at the bottle in her hands and then fixed a thunderous glare on the twins. "Butterbeer is meant to be non-alcoholic."

George threw her a mock insulted look. "It still is, Hermione."

She replied with a look of utter disgust. "Then explain this." She gestured wildly at the increasingly rowdy Gryffindors. "Not only is this against school rules, but it is _highly_ illegal! If McGonagall found out –"

"If McGonagall found out," Fred interrupted with a cheeky twinkle in his eye, "she would find nothing but a little pixie dust in each bottle. Completely harmless."

George chuckled in response. "Completely harmless _fun_ , Fred."

Hermione's frown cleared. "So you're saying, you put pixie dust in the butterbeer. That would react with the hops, wouldn't it?" Her face lit up in sudden understanding. "Oh! You created tiny quantities of Felicity Serum! That's brilliant!"

George grinned. "All the best parts of being drunk: happiness, confidence –"

"– no hangover!" echoed Fred with glee. "Drink up Hermione, you could do with letting loose for once."

Hermione let Fred clink his bottle against her unopened one with a bemused look. "This is weirdest prank you two have ever pulled. You never set out just to make people happy."

The twins put on identical wounded expressions and clutched their hands over their hearts dramatically.

"You wound us, Hermione!"

"People would almost think that you don't trust us!"

"With good reason," muttered the witch in question as she placed the offending butterbeer to the side. "Tell me what you're up to."

The twins glanced at each other and she could see an entire conversation passing silently between them. Fred smirked, "only if you let us in on what the First Task is."

She glared at him. "I don't know."

"Oh, come on Hermione," wheedled George. "We only want to help you."

"I really don't know. And why would _I_ want help?" She looked at them with dawning terror. "You want to help Neville, don't you? Knowing you, you'll get him killed!"

"Oh, don't be such a drama queen," said Fred, rolling his eyes.

"We've never hurt a fly!"

"George, that's not helping our case."

"Right. Sorry."

"No you're not."

Hermione watched them distrustfully. "Really guys, tell me what you're up to?"

"Where would be the fun in that?"

"Then, no. I won't tell you anything. I won't let you help and I won't trust you until you tell me what's going on." She stormed off towards an overly jovial Neville, whom she guided with a firm grip towards the stairs. Once she made sure he was safely on his way up, she gave a parting glare to the twins and stomped off towards the girls' dormitory.

Fred turned to observe the chaos around them. "Well, that could have gone better."

"Could have gone worse as well. She could have stayed long enough to see this," said George, pointing at the students who were now rolling around laughing on the floor as one by one started glowing blue. "Good thing she turned it down in the end."

Fred grinned and shook his head. "Forgot that the pixie dust would react with the sugar, didn't she. Sloppy, Granger."

Just then, there was a shriek from the girls' dormitory. Hermione come came pounding back down the stairs and stood, face flushed with anger, staring at the scene in front of her.

"Looks like she remembered after all," George ruefully pointed out, snatching up the remaining unopened bottles as fast as he could.

"Damn," concluded Fred, racing for the stairs. He cast a protective shield behind them and they cackled gleefully as the hexes shooting from Hermione's wand ricocheted into the walls.

Hermione was left with a Common Room full of bright blue Gryffindors. She dragged a hand tiredly over her face, wondering what on Earth the twins had actually wanted.

"This cannot be good."

~o~

Surrounded by the whirring of Auror Moody's Dark Arts Detectors cluttered on every surface, Barty Crouch Jr paced what he saw as _his_ office. A fire burned in the hearth, casting grotesque shadows of his Polyjuiced form on the walls. Anger from the meeting with the other Professors had not yet dissipated. It was lucky he had remained in enough control of his temper so as to not curse Igor Karkaroff. _How dare the man come back to Britain after his betrayal of the Dark Lord?_ he snarled silently to himself. That Dumbledore had seen it fit to chastise him for his anger did not sit well either. The old fool could not see past his act as Moody despite knowing the Auror for so many years, but the idea of Dumbledore believing he had any say over how _he_ acted…

He took a deep breath. No, he must control his temper. For the sake of the Dark Lord's plan.

The plan that was now shattered by _Longbottom._ Crouch slammed Moody's closed fists onto the desk, causing the mirror set on the wall above to swing dangerously. Crouch immediately steadied it; whilst his colleagues had rolled their eyes behind his back when he insisted it be installed, thinking the mirror was set so he could see behind him even whilst marking essays, it actually had a much more important roll. Studying Mad-Eye Moody's ghastly reflection now, Barty spotted a blond hair among the grey and took out the fire whisky flask from the inside of his jacket. He did not even wince any more at the taste of polyjuice; testament to how often he was required to drink the vile stuff.

He slumped at the desk, suddenly drained. Subterfuge was much more the Dark Lord's thing than his. Of course, he would do anything to help his master, but teaching half-bloods and even _mudbloods_ for a year wasn't something he relished. Now _Longbottom's_ name had come out the Goblet instead of Potter's the whole plan had to be reconstructed. The Goblet could no longer be used as a Portkey. _On the other hand, I am under no obligation to help Longbottom through the tasks_ , he thought with a smirk.

He would enjoy watching the boy suffer. Whomever had it out for the boy obviously needed to be disposed of. He couldn't have another would-be killer running about the castle getting in the way of the Dark Lord's plans, but he would certainly savour Neville Longbottom's demise. He wondered absently if his screams would be as delectable as his parents'. The part of him that still felt slightly bitter at the choice made that night by his Lordship rejoiced that the boy would now get what had been coming to him. Especially since the toddler that had so _amused_ the Dark Lord had turned into this cowering _Gryffindor_. Shame that he would not be able to personally cause the suffering, but one couldn't have everything.

 _Now, that's an idea… Everyone's attention on Longbottom and the Tournament will make it so much easier to find a way to get Potter cornered. No one will miss The Boy Who Lived when their attention is fixed on the Champions._ Barty let a self-satisfied smile creep across Moody's face. Now he had a plan, he could report to Lord Voldemort without fear. _Perfect._

All that was left for him to do was find the person who put Longbottom's name in the Goblet of Fire and quietly get rid of them before they caused more damage. He absently started marking the closest essay to him on his desk whilst he thought, until he realised what he was doing and pushed the work away with disgust.

Longbottom was a Pureblood, so it would not just be any Death Eater. Augusta Longbottom, after all, was not a witch to be messed with and taking her remaining family would surely mean being hunted down and killed in a seriously unpleasant fashion. So that ruled out the remaining Death Eaters, the traitors that escaped imprisonment in Azkaban. Their ideals clearly could be chopped and changed to suit whichever side was winning the war. His lip curled in disgust at the thought.

Death Eaters who were present the night of Fred and Alice Longbottom's… party… other than the Dark Lord were only himself and the Lestranges. _Bellatrix_ , he thought with a fond shake of Moody's head, _is unfortunately still locked up in Azkaban. Probably getting madder by the minute poor dear._

That left very few suspects. The glaringly obvious unknown was Karkaroff, but having calmed down, Crouch could see no motive. Still, better not to rule him out immediately.

Or, he thought sardonically, it could be an attempt by Dumbledore to 'prepare' the child to battle for the 'Greater Good'. He had seen the Headmaster do similar things to Gryffindors before the First War, but never this obvious or drastic. And the question remained as to why _Longbottom_ , since the boy was clearly incompetent at magic, despite him clearly having the theory down pat. Crouch pushed aside the fatherly frustration of a Professor who knows a student could do better, hating himself for having fallen into the role so easily.

Dumbledore had seemed as surprised as everyone by the extra Triwizard, but Crouch knew how well the old wizard played the fool. Then again, if Dumbledore was hoping to prepare anyone for the war to come it would be the brave Harry Potter.

There must be something he was missing. He shrugged, he tiredly resolved to report the failure of the plan to force Potter into the Triwizard Tournament and explain the safer, less convoluted plan that had come to him. As he was the most loyal of his servants; Lord Voldemort would refrain from killing him in anger until all had been explained. This would allow Crouch to warn the Dark Lord of other actors in this grand game. Actors which he would promise to find and kill.

All that was left was to watch and wait. He smirked and raised his flask of polyjuice to toast the heavy, wooden chest pushed into the shadows at the edge of the office. _Constant Vigilance._

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 **AN:** I want to thank my fantastic flatmate for helping me out with this chapter! If she does not escape, she will be helping me for the rest too, just saying. In other news, any tips with writing Fred and George's characters? I'm not funny enough...


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